


Works Every Time

by Spadesjade



Series: Tom and Agnes [3]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agnes has a thing for nice hands. Tom is fine with it, as long as it's HIS hands. Jealousy ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Works Every Time

"Tom, what's wrong?"

Agnes frowned at him from the passenger seat. Tom had been sullen since they'd gotten into the car. He kept looking at his hands, though, and grunting. She'd seen him flex his fingers at least ten or fifteen times, maybe more, and it was distracting. 

He looked at her, the street lights catching on his eyes for a moment, and she saw the glint of anger there. Directed at her? What had she done? Her eyebrows scrunched, and she continued to stare at his face, expectant, even when he dutifully turned back to watch the road.

"You kept staring at Jeremy's hands."

Agnes' brow immediately un-scrunched. "I'm sorry?"

"I saw you. I mean, it wasn't like a quick glance, either. All through dinner. By the time I noticed it I was sure you'd already been doing it for a while. Every time there was a lull in the conversation, you'd stare. When we were eating, you'd stare. And Jeremy talks with his hands, so I'm sure you were staring then, too."

She bit her bottom lip, trying to absorb this accusation. "And this...bothered you?"

"Don't play coy," Tom snapped, shooting ice-blue death rays at her as they stopped at a light. "I know you, Agnes. I've always known. And it's not the first time you've done it. Whenever some guy with nice hands is around, you stare. Sometimes it's like watching a cat tracking its prey. I've seen you strain your neck to get a better look."

Agnes' cheeks immediately flushed with embarrassment. Yes, he was her husband, yes it was understandable that he should know certain things about her, whether she'd ever come out and used the word "fetish" or not. But for him to fling it in her face in chastisement...she wasn't sure she could take it.

"If this bothered you so much, why are you waiting until now to bring it up?"

Tom scoffed. It was a typical deflection, he'd used it himself. "Maybe because you usually aren't so blatant about it. You usually respect me enough to be discreet. Except when you aren't. And it went on for the whole damn evening and..." He trailed off. She felt a sudden surge of warmth in her belly, a pleasure that was completely alien to her.

"Tom...are you jealous?" Was that why he kept flexing his fingers? Was he comparing himself?

Tom didn't answer.

Agnes smothered her grin. "Look, I am...I'm sorry. Jeremy has very interesting... hands."

"He has club fingers."

"Yes, but not gross ones," she pointed out. "Well, maybe some people would think that. And he's got veiny arms, and it's just a very nice combination--"

"Aggie," Tom snapped. His expression was definitely angry. There was a fire flickering his eyes, making them snap and sizzle. "Do you think I want to hear about it? Would you like it if I stared at some woman's ass or breasts like that and then described them to you?"

"No, but you're bringing it up." She sighed. "And seriously, you don't hear me complaining when you do look at other women's asses and legs and breasts."

"I don't do that!"

"Whatever, Tom," Agnes said, crossing her arms. The were on their own block now, not far from home. "You're a man, aren't you? I mean, it's not like you can help it. There are a lot of pretty, shapely women in this world. And they all want you to look at them. I just accept it. I can't put a blindfold on you, so I just trust you."

Tom fell silent again, and stayed that way until they reached their home. He didn't say anything to her, he didn't even get her car door for her, just went into the house. She followed, but at a distance. Tom was mad, he needed to cool off.

She considered his argument. Men's egos were such delicate things. And Tom did have very nice hands. She'd told him, many times. Although, they sometimes did look nicer in photographs than in real life, sometimes. Tom's body shape was naturally very slender, and when he lost too much weight his fingers would go into bony mode. But when the right role would come and he'd bulk up again, he would even go through the extra effort of a manicure. He did that quite often, come to think of it. At least monthly, since they'd gotten married.

Agnes reminded herself that she shouldn't like it that he was jealous. Jealousy suggested insecurity about a partner's feelings. But the fact that Tom cared enough about how she looked at other people, and wanted those looks only for himself...that he wanted her all to himself... and the simple fact that she had power over that precious little ego of his. Well. It just lit up a primal part of her that didn't awaken very often. 

She changed out of her dress and hung it up, slipping into lounging clothes. Then she padded back into the kitchen, were Tom was sitting at the table with his back to her. The dark, close-fitting suit jacket over his white dress shirt was very striking on him, and she could see the muscles working his jaw from where she stood. His hands were in fists, one resting on the table, the other on his knee where his legs were crossed.   
Approaching quietly, Agnes observed him. His hair was a rich shade of brown, with speckles of ginger and blond peeking here and there. It was short, revealing the nape of his neck, and flattering how long his neck actually was. The fainter hairs started a good two inches from the tip of the collar of his shirt, before turning into the thicker, smooth waves. It curled just a little behind his ears -- if he didn't cut it for a few more weeks the curls would bush a little more, and she loved playing with them. Funny, she didn't see him from this angle very often. 

The lines of the muscles of his neck behind his ears twitched just a bit as he worked his jaw. Without warning, she bent down and pressed her lips to just where his neck met his jaw. It was where she would kiss him often when either one of them were in a hurry and she had to jump him from behind before one of them (usually him) was out the door. Her hands on his shoulders felt him give a little jerk, but he didn't push away. 

Reaching over, she grasped the hand that sat on the table, clenched in tension. She wiggled her fingers underneath where his had curled shut, and pushed into his palm, forcing his fingers out. Her thumb ran over his long digits, circling over the one knuckle that was usually raw and red -- it was sensitive to cooler temperatures and chafed easily. "Do you need some lotion?" she whispered.

"Can you find it in yourself to settle for just boring old me...or my hands?"

The bitterness in his tone made her struggle with her temper. Now he had descended into childishness. But she held fast and let her breath drift over the hairs on his neck. 

"You mean settle for the best?"

"Don't humor me, Aggie.

She straightened, and then grasped his shoulders, hard. She pushed down, into the muscles, eliciting a groan from him. She knew his weakness when it came to his tight shoulders. 

"You're being thick, Tom," she said in a sing-song voice as she worked. "My beautiful, thick husband. You know how much I love you. And I love your hands. You know they're my favorite part of you...along with all my other favorite parts of you. And you know that you're the only one that has any of those."

"Yeah, but..." he groaned again at her ministrations. "What if someone else's are nicer?"

She laughed. It was genuine. "Jeremy's weren't nicer. They were interesting. I'd still never trade yours. But if you can look, I can look. It's only fair."

He started to soften underneath her. "Still don't like it. And you were gawking. I'm never like that when I'm looking. I glance but that's it."

"Yes, I saw that interview," Agnes chuckled. "The interviewer who was 'minty fresh.'"

"That was years before I knew you!"

"Hmmm," she bent low and kissed his neck again. "Did I mention how nice your neck is?"

"Another fetish?" But his voice had lost that sour edge.

She reached around and traced her fingers down from his Adam's apple to the hollow of his throat. "Maybe," she whispered.

Tom let out a little growl, stood, and turned. He grasped his wife around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, heading for their bedroom. She giggled as she slapped his shoulder.

"See, works every time!"


End file.
